


Remembered Forever for This

by Katkee



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Damned for All Time/Blood Money, multiple interpretations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:44:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katkee/pseuds/Katkee
Summary: Three interpretations of Judas and his betrayal centered around Damned for All Time/Blood Money.





	1. For Our Good

**Author's Note:**

> This first one I haven't seen as much, but I think it'd be interesting—Judas already knows he’ll regret betraying Jesus, but he believes that it's the right thing to do and that he can handle the fallout.

He’s sobbing.

It’s a terrible, terrible balance, this ~~crusade~~ / ~~cult~~ / ~~fellowship~~ / ~~blasphemy~~ / ~~sect~~ life they’ve led. Kindness and piety and thousands, thousands of followers, now. Too many. Perhaps Jesus is right and the Lord is smiling down on them, but the clergy is scowling and Rome is turning its head.

The clergy and Rome are much closer.

Still, terrible, _terrifying_ , though it is, the scales have held level thus far, precariously poised, a single man acting as lynchpin.

Jesus.

_~~you’ve started to believe~~ _ ~~~~

Judas can see with white-hot clarity what will happen if Jesus can’t hold together.

_~~if we go too far~~ _ ~~~~

Jesus can’t hold together.

_~~my mind is clearer now~~ _ ~~~~

Judas can see the war, the slaughter, the cataclysm. The end.

_~~all too well~~ _

There’s another balance now, just as delicate, just as damning. Judas sits alone, head in his hands, curled into himself, and watches the scales tip.

_~~please remember~~ _ ~~~~

On the one side, ~~his best friend~~ / ~~his right hand~~ / ~~a person he loves too much to bear losing~~ / ~~both the myth and the man~~ Jesus. And on the other, ~~the fifty thousand~~ / ~~the twelve chosen~~ / ~~everything he’s ever known~~ / ~~poor Jerusalem~~ all of Israel.

_~~i want us to live~~ _

He knows, as certainly as he knows his own mind, what Jesus would have him do. What he must do.

_~~it was beautiful~~ _

Still, he is sobbing when he goes to the priests.

_~~but now~~ _ ~~~~

“If I help you—”

They watch him, faces stony as the walls around them.

He spits “ _sordid_ ” with all the loathing he can muster through his tears, because perhaps they will take offense at the insult and forcefully show him the door, relieving him of the necessity of balancing the scales.

They do not; they whirl around him with their obsidian robes and steel eyes and he is relieved of nothing.

“I really didn’t come here of my own accord,” he informs them desperately.

“I came because I had to.” He _did_.

“Jesus can’t control it like he did before.” He _can’t_.

“I know that Jesus thinks so too.” He _must_.

“Jesus wouldn’t mind that I was here with you.” He _couldn’t_.

“Just don’t say I’m…” He can’t bear to think of it, can barely say it. “…damned for all time.”

Judas finds himself slumped on the floor, reduced again to tears, before he knows what’s happened. The priests swirl around him, surrounding him, all the frenzy of a storm without the cleansing water.

They crouch beside him in a superficial facsimile of comfort. He knows it’s no more than a façade and yet he clutches weakly at their robes. “Annas, you’re a friend, a worldly man and wise, Caiaphas, my friend, I know you sympathize—”

In unison, Caiaphas and Annas brush his hands away, gently enough; still, the loss of the meager support sends Judas flat to the ground before he rights himself. His head aches and his eyes sting and he stammers out a few more words of explanation.

When he realizes he’s doing nothing more than begging again for reassurance, he stops, disgusted, and settles for sinking back to the ground.

Annas, exasperated, snaps commands and yanks Judas to his feet. Caiaphas talks smoother and mentions silver.

Judas rubs his eyes and mumbles, “I don’t want your blood money.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter—”

 _Doesn’t_ it, he’s beginning to wonder; he faces Caiaphas this time and speaks quite clearly: “I don’t _need_ your blood money.”

The priests ignore his protests, they smirk at each other, they argue the point. Judas finally, silently, acquiesces; he feels sick to his stomach already, and when Caiaphas presses the bag into his hand it can hardly get worse.

He’s sobbing again but he speaks, he tells them what they must know, and they sweep away in triumph.

Judas is left alone with his broken scales, thirty pieces of silver, and the certainty that he has chosen wrong.

_~~it’s all gone sour~~ _


	2. I Can See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more common interpretation, with an added spin: Judas was a treasurer, after all—I had to write one with him more mathematically minded. Trouble is, logic and emotion don’t play nicely together. Especially when his motives aren’t the purest.

Among the many, many things Judas would never know, the greatest of them was where precisely the idea first came from. Later he would suspect unearthly influence—from heaven or hell, impossible to discern. Or perhaps the origin was entirely human, a flash of genius, or insanity, the two were indistinguishable.

Regardless, the simple fact was that the idea entered his mind, and once there, it would not be dislodged. But to betray Jesus?

Unthinkable.

Yet he had thought it.

And he continued to think it, unwillingly felt it fester in the back of his mind as Jesus consorted with concubines and defied the High Priest, trashed temples and incited riots.

He was dangerous. Not to Judas—not _just_ to Judas, anyway—but to himself and everyone around him.

But to _betray Jesus_?

Fear and guilt and misery sabotaged Judas’ attempts to collate scattered thoughts into proper order. He abandoned analysis and focused on facts, no more, no less, just what was _true_.

And the logic began to fall into place.

  1. Jesus had become enamored with his own fame.
  2. His standards were slipping, yielding inconsistencies and self-contradictions, such as traveling with a _prostitute_.
  3. The apostles had fallen prey to the same fate, too distracted by their adoring fans to keep sight of what they set out to do.
  4. No matter how many followers Jesus amassed, he did not have the authority to promise them heaven.
  5. He was promising them heaven.
  6. His promises of heaven amassed _more_
  7. He was beginning to rival even Caesar in his power and influence.
  8. A conflict with Caesar would end in countless deaths.
  9. _Judas was the only one who understood any of this_.



The facts lined up like decimal points and they summed to only one possible course of action:

To betray Jesus.

Nothing else—no one else—would be able to avert the coming ruin. Judas had to betray him.

He tried very hard not to envision Jesus’ face when he found out, failed, and sought the High Priests despite it.

They welcomed him in with magnanimous gestures and smiles just shy of sinister. Judas was already beginning to feel uneasy, but his logic was correct.

He had to do this. For the sake of the nation.

Judas ignored both the priests’ hospitality and his own doubt, took a breath to calm himself, and spoke.

“Now if I help you, it matters that you see…”

They nodded understandingly, encouragingly, as he continued.

“I have no thought at all about my own reward,” he was only doing what anyone not blinded by Jesus’ ineffable radiance would, after all.

“I really didn’t come here of my own accord,” he said, and it sounded so true that he resolved to repeat it later. “Just don’t,” and maybe this was selfish, “say I’m,” but he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be, “damned for all time.”

They watched him coolly, which was not reassuring in the least, so he pressed onward. He said something vague about Jesus’ inability to “control it”, _it_ being, oh, himself, the crowd—Judas even—

“Jesus wouldn’t mind that I was here with you,” he added, firmly, leaving no room for doubt in the priests’ minds. In Judas’ mind.

“I really didn’t come here of my own accord. Just don’t say I’m…”

He paused, for a fleeting moment wondering if he was perhaps wrong and this _would_ damn him. If Jesus was what they said he was—

“…damned for all time…”

But then, what if he wasn’t? And besides, even if he _was_ the new Messiah, he was _still_ consorting, defying, trashing, inciting—

And before it all—despite it all, even now, he was Judas’ best friend. So—

So—

A jolt tore him from his thoughts; the priests had walked past him, one brushing against his shoulder jarringly.

His thoughts flying apart, Judas felt his new chain of logic snap. “Annas,” he stalled, “you’re a friend.” He spewed more empty praise, trying to reconstruct his calculation.

Hopeless. Better to fall back on his previous decision, for he could still see “the sad solution”; still knew “what must be done”.

He repeated the phrases that were all too quickly becoming his mantra, while the thousand facets of this choice swirled through his head. They wouldn’t lead to a clean conclusion and so they wouldn’t _stop_ , a fervent barrage of thoughts overwhelming enough to bring him to his knees.

Annas, with all the charm and empathy characteristic of a high priest, sighed. “Cut the protesting, forget the excuses. We want information. Get up off the floor.”

He shifted his weight slightly but didn’t stand, still attempting to force his mind into order. Numbers always added up _nicely_ , and  this—just—wouldn’t.

“We have the papers we need to arrest him.”

There, see—they’d find him sooner or later. Judas was simply averting more bad things arising from this mess of a situation.

“Your help in this matter won’t go unrewarded.”

He frowned at the mention of money; had he not made himself _quite_ clear on the matter? “I don’t need your blood money.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, our expenses are good.”

Of that, at least, Judas was certain. The High Priests were anything but destitute. They could afford any price he cared to name. But—

He rose to his feet and turned his back on them, retreating a few steps. “I don’t _want_ your blood money.” It wouldn’t be right, it would be like—like—

Like _selling_ Jesus, rather than simply turning him in. Unthinkable.

Yet—

The priests followed him.

“You might as well take it; we think that you should.”

Caiaphas put a hand on his shoulder.

“Think of the things you can do with that money.”

He spun Judas around to face them again.

“Choose any charity, give to the poor.”

Judas looked down, shook his head.

“We’ve noted your motives.”

Annas patiently held out a small drawstring bag.

“We’ve noted your feelings.”

Judas found himself reaching for it. There were people _starving_ —surely they mattered more than his own discomfort.

Still, he hesitated—

“This isn’t blood money, it’s a…”

Caiaphas struggled for another word and Judas drew his hand back a little; this wasn’t right, he should go, the money was unnecessary, as was this whole idea, this _betrayal_ , he’d just talk to Jesus instead, it would be fine—

“Fee,” Annas suggested.

“A fee,” Caiaphas agreed, “nothing more.”

It _wouldn’t_ be fine and he knew it.

He reached out again.

Just before he touched the bag, Annas dropped it. Judas closed his eyes and slowly knelt to retrieve it.

“On Thursday night, you’ll find him where you want him…”

He viciously suppressed a last surge of doubt.

“…far from the crowds, in the garden of Gethsemane.”

Yes, to betray Jesus.

_Unthinkable_.

Yet, heaven or hell, genius or insanity, he had done it.


	3. I Despise You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, there are some productions where Judas is just plain angry.

“Now if I help you, it matters that you see: these sordid kinds of things are coming hard to me.”

_(He warned Jesus. He did.)_

“It’s taken me some time to work out what to do. I weighed the whole thing out before I came to you.”

He paces the room steadily.

“I have no thought at all about my own reward. I really didn’t come here of my own accord.”

_(Was it his fault that Jesus didn’t listen?)_

“Just don’t say I’m damned for all time.”

He stops pacing, bows to the priests, who ignore him.

“I came because I had to—I’m the one who saw. Jesus can’t control it like he did before.”

_(Everything was changing. This was not what he signed up for.)_

“And furthermore, I know that Jesus thinks so too. Jesus wouldn’t mind that I was here with you.”

He spreads his arms wide, exasperation and innocence.

“I have no thought at all about my own reward. I really didn’t come here of my own accord.”

_(Jesus was becoming everything that he should have despised.)_

“Just don’t say I’m damned for all time.”

He turns from one priest to the next, frowning at their indifference.

“Annas, you’re a friend, a worldly man and wise. Caiaphas, my friend, I know you sympathize.”

_(Why did Jesus go off with that woman? Why did he defend her despite his supposed best friend’s fears?)_

“But why are we the prophets? Why are we the ones who see the sad solution, know what must be done?”

He grabs the priests’ arms to ensure they understand his sincerity.

“I have no thought at all about my own reward. I really didn’t come here of my own accord.”

_(How could Jesus betray him?)_

“Just don’t say I’m damned for all time.”

The priests remove his hands from their clothes and shove him to his knees.

_(He warned Jesus. He did.)_

Judas smirks harshly.

Is it his fault that Jesus wouldn’t listen?

“Cut the protesting, forget the excuses.” Annas uses Judas’ hair as leverage to drag his head back. “We want information. Get up off the floor.”

He lets go suddenly enough that Judas falls flat to the ground.

“We have the papers we need to arrest him.” The priests advance, and Judas crawls backward for a moment before scrambling to his feet. “You know his movements. We know the law.”

Judas inclines his head in agreement. About to speak, he pauses when Annas says, “Your help in this matter won’t go unrewarded.”

“We’ll pay you in silver, cash on the nail.”

He considers.

“We just need to know where the soldiers can find him—”

The priests drift closer, one on each side.

“—with no crowd around him—”

No, he doesn’t want silver. _He_ won’t betray his ideals.

“—then we can’t fail.”

He refuses, politely as possible considering the circumstances: “I don’t need your blood money.”

Caiaphas laughs. “Oh, that doesn’t matter, our expenses are good.” He takes a step closer to Judas, who stumbles backwards and trips.

He refuses again, more pointedly—“I don’t want your blood money!”—and forces himself up to his knees.

“But you might as well take it.” Annas holds out the money. “We think that you should.”

Judas doesn’t move except to tilt his chin up defiantly.

“Think of the things you can do with that money,” Caiaphas interjects. “Choose any charity, give to the poor.”

He reconsiders.

“We’ve noted your motives; we’ve noted your feelings.”

Annas extends his arm, dangling the bag of money closer. Judas’ gaze goes to it, contemplative.

“This isn’t blood money. It’s a fee, nothing more.”

_(…he warned Jesus.)_

“On Thursday night…”

He reaches out.

“…you’ll find him where you want him.”

_(He did.)_

“Far from the crowds in the garden…”

Judas takes the offered silver and clutches it to his chest.

 “…of Gethsemane.”

_(Was it his fault that Jesus didn’t listen?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at literallyjcstrash.tumblr.com.


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